


Kneel Before the Throne

by fictorium (orphan_account)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, F/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>KINKMEME PROMT: When rumors of the new Queen's disloyalty surface, Leopold has her pleasure him in front of the Royal Court to prove her allegiance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kneel Before the Throne

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not kidding, this is not my usual kind of story. 
> 
> It's het. It's not really consensual however you look at it. And yet the story bugged me for weeks until I wrote it. So here it is. Please skip it if you want to tell me off for writing it.
> 
> ***PLEASE AVOID IF YOU HAVE AN ISSUE WITH ANY OF THESE WARNINGS***

The guards come for her, just as Rumpel warned her they would. Breakfast is barely served, Regina judges by the height of the sun through her tower window.

 

"The King requests your presence," the short, fat one says, tongue running over his broken teeth as he leers. "He said not to bother dressing for Court today."

 

"I can't leave my chambers in just a nightgown," Regina protests, but the gleam in their eyes tells her that propriety is just a distant dream now.

 

They grab her by the arms, thick fingers digging into her tender flesh, and Regina weighs the risks of saving herself by magic now, of proving what the whispers have been saying for months.

 

They'll burn her for a witch if she does, she knows. So she kicks a few times, and resigns herself to whatever the King has in mind for her.

 

The guards drop her to her knees on the cold marble of the throne room, and despite the sharp pain and slippery surface, Regina holds herself at least partly upright. She will not lie prostrate before this man who bought her like cattle in the market; it's bad enough she must do it once or twice a month in what they laughingly call a marital bed. 

 

"Regina," he says, that singsong lilt in his voice as maddening as ever. He talks to her that way when she strips for him, even, and it makes her blood run cold that he talks the same way to his daughter. Perhaps the Queen should be flattered that the King still talks to her as though he might have a scrap of feeling towards her, but the tone doesn't get any less sweet when he calls her by his dead wife's name and violates Regina in the ways that will guarantee there is no heir but Snow White.

 

"Husband," she says through gritted teeth, resisting the compulsion to spit at the very throne he sits on. "You wished to see me?"

 

Court is not as busy as usual. The noblewomen who fill a small number of seats are not in evidence, which at least means no disapproving glares for the young Queen over their needlework. Not that these women have any rights or vote at court, beyond being fortunate enough to marry well and be shown off by their older, bragging husbands who sully the good name of Lords.

 

"Yes, my Queen," Leopold confirms, clutching the ornate golden arms of his throne like an excited child. "News of you has been circulating in my Kingdom, news that causes me great trouble. They say you are learning to become a witch, like your departed mother; they say you take secret lessons with a man, in the woods."

 

"I am sorry, your Majesty," Regina covers smoothly. "I hope such idle lies have not distressed you unduly. You know, surely, that I would never say or do anything to bring trouble upon you."

 

Sometimes, forced to bow and scrape like this, Regina can feel her hand moving towards his chest without permission. She could clutch that heart and grind it to dust before a single courtier could stop her. If not, it might well be merciful just to die in the attempt.

 

"I am not sure these tales are false," the King muses, beckoning her closer. On her knees, already aching and bruising, Regina reluctantly shuffles closer. He pinches her chin between thumb and forefinger, just like her mother would, and tilts her head up until the muscles in her neck start to protest. "After all, I was told by one of my Lord, right here at Court. Would you have me believe my own men are liars, Regina?"

 

"No, husband," Regina croaks, her throat straining from his stretching of it. Where is the annoying interruption of Snow White when it's most needed? "But perhaps some rascal saw fit to lie to one of the King's own Lords."

 

"Lord Abrams," Leopold barks. "Have you any reason to doubt the men who brought you this news?"

 

"Not that I'm aware of," Abrams drawls from somewhere behind Regina. She can smell the mead and sweat of him, though, which makes him far closer than she would like. The little she can move her head to see informs her that the Lords have mostly left their seats and are crowding closer to Regina, and to the throne.

 

"Well, wife," Leopold sighs, looking genuinely disappointed in her. The part of her conditioned to that response rises up like bile in the back of her throat: the will to please, to make amends; to do whatever it will take not to be hurt this time. "It would seem to be a case of the Queen's word against another's."

 

Regina wonders what it would be like to be the kind of Queen whose word would automatically trump anyone else's. She wonders what it would be like to be so loved, so admired. But she trusts all of them as far as they trust her, and that's a distance that can be measured only as far as she can spit.

 

"I can only ask that you believe me, your Majesty," Regina pleads, but she can't quite calm the defiant tilt of her chin, wrenching her from Leopold's grasp. He considers this for a moment, before backhanding her across the face, his heavy signet ring splitting her lip in his carelessness. Regina licks the blood away, grateful that it's only a small cut, and holds her head up straight again to see what he'll do next.

 

"I will not stand for disloyalty," Leopold decides. He shifts on his throne in a familiar way that makes Regina's stomach sink. Sure enough, he pulls aside his velvet robe to reveal that the first slap has been enough to provoke a reaction beneath the soft cotton of his breeches. "I think it's time you proved your loyalty to the crown, Regina."

 

There's an approving murmur from the gathered nobles, and Regina feels the panic that somehow she'll be proving loyalty to them. If he asks that of her, if he makes that most unreasonable of demands, she'll take his heart indeed, and blast the rest of them to hell for following him down that path at all.

 

"How can I prove it, my love?" She almost vomits trying to form the words, but the last-gasp appeal to the notion that this is a marriage and she is a substitute mother to his daughter is all she has left to try.

 

"Perhaps you can show the court that you have loyalty to only one man," Leopold suggests, as though it's no more than an invitation to dinner. "A wicked witch would resist her husband's charms, I'm sure. But if you're still the beautiful young thing I chose for a bride, well. You'll have no problem demonstrating just why I made you Queen."

 

Those words are almost her undoing. 

 

Their wedding night, after he'd yanked her by the hair and shown her in rough motions how to please a man with her mouth, Regina had fallen to the floor afterwards, gagging as he groaned in satisfaction. "You're a natural," Leopold had told her, patting her on the head like an obedient pup. "That mouth of yours is why I chose you to be my wife, and I was right."

 

The magic crackles in her fingertips, still beneath the skin but in danger of bursting forth. Regina knows she might be lucky to escape with her head if she acts now, but that means a life on the run and no chance to ever exact her revenge on the child for Daniel. 

 

No, she tells herself. The plan is made, just like mother taught, and now it must be followed through. Daniel deserves nothing less from her.

 

"Perhaps somewhere more private?" Regina ventures, but she knows a power play when she sees one.

 

"Here," Leopold commands. He nods towards the cords that are straining now as his erection grows. Whatever his problems, the King has never had to compensate for a lack of endowment, and Regina has borne the bruises to prove it.

 

“Are you sure?” She whispers, pulling back just in time to avoid another slap. The King adjusts course, and grabs her by the hair instead, hard enough to make the roots sing out at the sharp and searing pain.

 

“Come along, Regina,” Leopold mutters as she strains against his grip. “Be a good girl.”

 

Then her fingers move as though controlled my magic, the remnants of those years of conditioning forcing her to bend with those words. She’s only ever wanted to be good, before Daniel and Rumpel and the King himself pulled her from that path. She can be good, she can be loyal. She can tell Rumpel no more lessons, that she will not become Cora no matter how hard he pushes. Perhaps one day she can even forgive Snow White, but the white-hot spike of anger in her head at just the name suggests that’s less than likely.

 

The gathered nobles gasp and then murmur in encouragement as Regina unlaces the breeches, and she looks up at her husband one last time, hoping this is a trick designed only to warn and humiliate, but the darkness of lust in his eyes confirms only that the degradation will be absolute.

“Gentlemen,” the King crows as Regina’s hand first wraps around his stiffening cock. “Those who doubted my Queen are about to be proven wrong. Those who took my word about her loyalty, well, mayhap you’ll be rewarded just like this.”

 

Regina manages not to gag at the thought, but she’s already being steered towards the head, the practiced motion of her fingers stroking him not deemed enough. She closes her eyes, which actually makes the eyes on her feel so much worse, and runs the flat of her tongue over the shiny tip, the first drop of the King’s arousal already sour against her tastebuds.

 

 _Call this off_ , she thinks desperately; the point has surely been made.

 

His grip on her hair tightens, and slowly but surely, Regina is guided towards the task she has no choice but to complete. A single tear falls from her left eye, but it splashes on the fabric of his pants, and nobody seems to notice but her.

 

She forms the necessary ‘o’ with her mouth, and inhales deeply as her lips first make contact. Leopold hisses in pleasure, but his grip doesn’t lessen any. Forcing herself to relax, Regina takes him in her mouth more fully, bobbing shallowly to about a third of the way along his length. The King is freshly bathed, at least, she can taste the faint tang of carbolic soap still on his skin.

 

He releases her hair then, confident that she’ll cooperate. Regina feels the thrum of something like power in the pit of her stomach. She could bite him now, make him cry real tears in front of all his precious noblemen. The spells she’s bee practicing to bind and cut and burn, churn through her brain in a procession, one after the other, needing only her simple exhalation to become reality.

 

Instead she sucks. Once, twice, and then trails along the underside of his cock with the very tip of her tongue, a teasing sensation after the initial boldness. Leopold, with his ingrained arrogance, enjoys the tease. It never occurs to him that she won’t follow through. That alone makes her hands clench into fists, until she reminds herself to unbunch the fingers of her right hand and circle his cock with a light grip. She has no intention of taking him all the way into her throat today, and seated like this he rarely presses the issue.

 

This time she swirls her tongue around and around, risking a glance sideways at the horrid men watching her, silently urging her on. She’s the center of attention, the jewel in the crown all over again, and damn him for making her do it, but damn them if they think they’ll see her cry.

 

The bobbing of her head is instinctual, and even as her fingers move in short, sharp strokes, she finds herself taking more of his length without much in the way of effort. He never could last long, not even on the few occasions he pretended to care about her pleasure, back in the early days when he toyed with trying for a male heir.

 

Even so, he comes suddenly, as she’s sucking right by the head, tugging at the sensitive ring of nerves there that make his growl low in his throat. She swallows fast, already craving a glass of wine to wash away the taste of him.

 

She pulls away, with a nervous glance to see if he will offer her up to the court like some tavern whore. Fortunately, the glaze has brought his possessive streak back, and he clamps a hand down on her shoulder hard enough to bruise.

 

“The Queen has proven her loyalty,” he rasps. “And none shall question it again.”

 

“Will there be anything else?” Regina dares to ask, while he’s still in an accommodating mood.

 

“You may return to your tower,” the King says, as though being benevolent. “Perhaps tomorrow we’ll see about standing down the guards.”

 

Regina stands, wiping her lips with the trailing cuff of her velvet dress. Everyone in the room is watching her, and no doubt some servants behind drapes and through the cracks in the doors. To hell with every last one of them. She stands tall, curtseys to the throne, and strides towards the main door.

 

Just before taking her leave, she turns back with a final thought for the man she’s bound to.

 

“Darling, don’t forget to tuck yourself in. You’re putting on quite a show for the Court.”


End file.
